Punisher Initiation
by Hellshadow
Summary: Frank Castle is an NYPD rookie who has just made his first significant bust. When a notorious mob boss loses profit and manpower from the police raid, he targets Frank’s family and kills them. The birth of the Punisher is at hand.
1. Chapter 1

New York

It was supposed to be a simple job. His first major bust. But nothing ever is. The young man sighed and looked at his partner. His teammate was silent, blue eyes searching for any forms of activity. His black hair and body armor allowed him to be practically invisible in the night.

"Remember, Frank, try to take him alive," David Kore said. Frank just nodded and checked his Marui H & K MP5. David watched as Frank casually slapped a cartridge in and readied the weapon. The young NYPD rookie had always managed to impress him in training.

_Course, considering his family has a big cop history, it's no surprise._

David was, in this mission, Frank's superior. But he was also one of Frank's closest friends. David Kore was 23, with brown hair and green eyes. He had joined the NYPD a year before Frank had. Frank Castle, on the other hand…

Frank was new on the force. But he'd risen in the ranks quickly. He's started out as a no-name rookie, and most people thought him to be a glory hound. But nothing could be further from the truth.

Frank didn't care for glory. He'd entered not because he wanted to continue the police legacy his family had started, but because he truly wanted to make life safe for others. And he did a very good job of it.

"All right, snatch and grab, everyone," David spoke into his mike. "Let's make this quick. GO!"

David rushed and kicked the door in, rifle ready. He spotted two of them directly in front of him. They aimed their guns at him, and David quickly jumped behind the door, hearing the rounds impacting on the wood. Frank rushed past him, oblivious.

"Frank, what the hell are you doing?!" He yelled, but there was no answer. Just more gunfire. Then nothing.

"Clear."

Frank's voice was calm, composed. David peered in, amazed. The two gunmen lay on the floor, bullet holes in their chests. Frank was crouching on the floor, swapping a new cartridge casually, as if there was no threat.

"You don't waste any time, do you?" David asked rhetorically.

"No," Frank replied, getting up. "You okay?"

"I should be asking you that," David said, placing a hand on the young man's shoulder.

Frank just shrugged the arm off and walked to the next room cautiously. David stayed five feet behind him. Frank continued on, as if in a trance. David had seen this a few times before. Frank could seem so focused some times, as if the only thing he cared was the objective. But nothing slipped past him.

Gunfire was suddenly heard behind them. He and Frank instantly turned around, guns raised.

"Maybe it's over," David said.

"No, those weren't our guns," Frank said, taking charge.

"How do you know?" David asked, checking his magazine.

"I know what MP5's and Beretta's sound like."

With that, Frank slipped ahead, hugging the wall.

David followed him, grimacing.

The two rushed in, the backs of unsuspecting criminals facing them. And Frank Castle had never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He opened fire, the closest one immediately falling face first to the floor. The others turned around, shouting at the top of their lungs. The two cops stepped behind crates, Frank dropping his weapon and calmly walking around. He pulled out a tactical knife, twirling the blade expertly.

David dropped his rifle and went for the Beretta, trying to warn Frank of the amount of gunmen waiting. But no sound came out.

Frank saw them in front of him, saw their obvious snickers. They must have figured four guns beat one knife. Unfortunately for them, they were underestimating Frank Castiglione.

He jumped in among them and his knife flashed quickly, cutting into the arms of the man in front of him. The thug cried out in pain, dropping his gun. Frank's second natural skill kicked in as they encircled him.

Jeet Kune Do. It was Frank's specialty. When he was a boy, Bruce Lee had been one of his many idols. And when he learned of the martial art of flowing attacks and free movement, he started training.

They attacked suddenly and without warning. But Frank was ready. He responded with simple, but devastating moves. Kick to the ribs, punch to the jaw, elbow to the chest. Efficiency, directness, simplicity. Those were the three parts of Jeet Kune Do, and Frank flawlessly utilized them.

David watched with a mix of amazement and fear as the young Castle immobilized the men. Castle just shrugged and twirled the blade slowly a few times before sheathing it.

"We need to get moving, Frank," he said, hoping silently everything went as planned. Frank nodded, a gun in his right hand now. Frank's reply was silent. He simply surged forward, as if possessed.

"Shit," David muttered. He didn't want Frank to get too far ahead.

Frank spoke into his microphone softly. David only heard it because he was listening in.

"Move in."

"Frank, NO!"

Too late. Frank Castle kicked the door in and barged right in, bullets slamming into the walls behind him and the furniture surrounding him. David ducked behind a table, shooting in the enemy's general direction. Frank just ran past the shooters, ignoring their curses and surprised cries.

David heard the mike crackle, and he thought for sure Frank was dead.

"Got him."

That voice again. David grinned, though he truly felt rotten. He yelled at the top of his voice.

"MOVE IN!"

Immediately, the noise level rose, as FBI and NYPD agents rushed in firing. Inside the main room, Frank Castle was shooting anyone that pulled a gun out with deadly precision. But he didn't kill them. His Beretta was only good for 15 shots, after all. David and the others rushed in, finishing off what remained in a very orderly fashion.

"CLEAR!"

"Clear!"

All the others reported in. David sighed and looked at Frank. And whom he was sitting on. Antony Pavla was tied at the ankles and wrists, struggling. Frank grinned.

"What?"


	2. Chapter 2

Downtown

"…as police have finally apprehended Antony Pavla, a man they believe to be connected with multiple crime syndicates. Frank Castle, one of the members of the police raid, was responsible for Pavla's capture. The date for the trial has yet to be determined."

The people at the table wondered what this meant.

"We have to get Pavla out," one said.

"No, let him rot. But we can't let this stand. That was a lot of money we lost. I say we crack down on the police."

"First thing we must do, gentlemen, is take care of this Frank Castle. He's young, but could jeopardize everything we've accomplished so far," the man at the end of the table said. His voice was deep, with an accent, possibly European.

"Indeed. Call agent Kore… I have something urgent to tell him," another said, letting out a puff of smoke from the cigar he held.

David Kore was, at that moment, filling out the after-mission report. He typed out the last sentence and printed it. Then he let out a sigh and buried his face in his hands. This would be a long day.

He turned his head as he heard cheers behind him. Frank entered the room, grinning and shaking hands. David got up, forcing a smile. Inside, he felt cold dread at what awaited. Not now, but soon. There was no way around it.

"Hey, David," Frank said, shaking his hand. "Good thing you were there, too."

"Yeah." _Not really._

"You ok? You don't look too god," Frank continued.

"Just tired, Frank. That raid really had me worried," he said, lying.

"Well, I hope you get better. I'm off. My family'll kill me if I'm late. See you in a few weeks."

Frank left, giving him a pat on the back as a goodbye.

David watched as he left, the knot in his stomach tightening. The phone rang. David picked it up, hand shaking.

"Yes? This is Agent Kore speaking," he said.

Less than twenty seconds later, he paled and hung up. Then he looked at the door through which Frank exited.

Outside, Frank walked out to his car, an old beat up Chevrolet Chevelle. It was a '77 SS Supercharge model. It belonged to his father, and then Frank received it on his 16th birthday. He opened the door and got in.

The engine roared to life the moment he turned the ignition, and he pulled out of the police parking, heading home. He enjoyed the ride. He no longer had a lot of time to himself, being involved with law enforcement. Of course, it was in the family. The Chevelle kept a nice, leisurely pace, Frank trying to enjoy the beautiful day.

Pavla's behind bars, I got a promotion, family picnic this weekend. What can possibly go wrong?

For a second, he remembered the David's pale face, his reassurance that there was no problem. David was one of Frank's oldest friends, and it worried him. He had never before looked as terrible as he had in that moment.

_Probably just miffed 'cuz he got stuck with the paperwork, _Frank thought, grinning. He turned into one of the driveways, parking next to a black H3 Hummer. The large vehicle belonged to his mother, though he had no idea why his dad bought it for her.

He got out, patting his car appreciatively. His mother disliked his using the Chevelle, mainly because she was afraid it would blow up the moment the engine started up. She'd voiced her concerns out loud once, and Frank had just laughed. Which was a rare sight.

Unlike other young men, Frank had always been quiet, serious. A bit too serious, in fact. Ironically, before joining the police, Frank had been studying to be a priest. When he'd told that to his buddies at work, they all laughed, thinking he was joking. None of them could picture Frank Castle, expert priest. But they did agree on one thing-if he had become one, he would have had no problem putting the fear of God into anyone.

He opened the door, putting the duffel bag he carried down.

"Welcome back, son."

Frank looked to his left, noticing his father sitting on the couch, watching the news. The man had Frank's eyes, a deep blue, but his hair and beard were white. Mario Lorenzo Castiglione looked at his son and grinned.

Frank walked over to him, shaking the hand his father put out.

"Congratulations. You made it, Frank."

The man stood up and hugged his son tightly. Frank just smiled, glad he'd made it back.

"All right, you two, you'll have plenty of time to share stories later. Frank, could you put this in the garage, please?" Louisa Castiglione interrupted, walking into the room, holding a tray of food in her hands.

Mario just laughed as his son did as he was told, shaking his head as he opened the door.

A few hours later, the family found itself in the park, enjoying the beautiful day. Frank just lay on the grass, staring at the sky. He was wearing jean and a black shirt. Louisa had tried to persuade Frank to wear something nicer, that wouldn't make him look as if he was brooding, but he hadn't listened.

As he lay there, thinking about how he'd gotten this far, a cold chill came over him. Frank was instantly up, alert. His instincts had saved him before, and he knew what he just felt was no breeze. His eyes scanned the park, trying to find something, anything, that could explain it.

Then his eyes caught sight of two cars entering the park. The one in front was a black El Dorado, and the one behind it was a 1966 Chevy Impala. The passenger of the Impala suddenly stuck his head out and pulled out a submachine gun, firing wildly.

And that's when something clicked in Frank's mind. Both cars were heading in his family's direction.

This isn't some gang dispute. It's a feint. They're after us. They're after- 

And that's when a stray bullet hit him right in the shoulder.

"Frank!" His mother screamed, rushing towards him. Frank groaned, looking up just in time to see a hail of bullets cut her down. His father was already dead, body strewn out on the picnic cloth.

Frank started hyperventilating as the two cars pulled over. The doors opened, and they stepped out, carrying pistols and submachine guns. One walked over to him, and kneeled.

"Huh. Don't look so tough now, do you, rook? Should have stayed home and away from our business."

He stood up and cocked his pistol, aiming it at his chest.

"See you in hell."

Then he fired. He turned around and walked away, pulling out a cell phone.

"Yes?"

"It's done. Frank Castle and his family are dead."

The people at the table sighed.

"Thank God. You're certain no one else was there?"

"Yes, sir."

"And no one survived?"

"No, sir. They're all dead."

"Well done."

He hung up.

"Gentlemen, I believe our problems are over."

As the cars at the park drove away, one of the deceased coughed, and then began crawling.


	3. Chapter 3

The park was ablaze with activity. Squad cars littered the area, blocking the streets. Officers were trying to control the massive crowds that had shown up shortly after the drive-by shooting occurred. David Kore walked towards the group of bodies that lay in the grass. He couldn't seem to control the sinking feeling in his gut that something was wrong.

_I know what I'm gonna see. Why feel so rotten?_

He finally reached the paramedics. And then he realized. There were only two bodies. Mario and Louisa Castiglione lay dead on the ground, riddled with bullets.

_Oh, no._

"What about Frank Castle? Where's his body?" Kore asked, panic evident in his voice.

"Sorry, sir. Guess he wasn't here when it happened. Nothing on the police band," another officer supplied from behind him.

_Shit._

The window slammed shut, and Frank Castle dropped to the ground, gasping. He was bleeding pretty badly, though he'd managed to get here without leaving a trail behind. He staggered to the kitchen, trying to locate the first aid kit his mother had somewhere in the pantry.

He shuffled through the small room, jars and cans falling to the floor. He grabbed the white box and opened it, pulling out some bandages. He fell down and tore off his shirt, revealing a bloodied torso, two dark bullet holes oozing blood onto his pants. He pressed the cloth to his chest, applying pressure t stop the profuse bleeding.

He looked around, and noticed the time. 3:46. Shit. He didn't have much time. The police would no doubt come here to see if maybe someone had seen him. He struggled to his feet and made his way upstairs. He lurched into his parents' room, almost as if he was drunk. He opened the closet and pulled out a gray box. He opened it and pulled out the two pistols that lay in it.

They were twin Brazos Custom Pro SC pistols. .40 caliber, 20 rounds a clip. He grunted and stood up, heading for his room. He opened his closet and pulled out a sports bag, unzipping it. He turned the bag over and dumped out everything onto the floor, the started grabbing clothes and stuffed them in. Then his eyes caught something. The black shirt he got as a present a few years ago. It had a dirtied up skull on it, and nothing else.

_Could be useful, _Frank thought, and put it in the bag, as well. He also spied a photo book with the words _Family Memories _written on it, and grabbed it. Then he returned to his parent's bedroom, and put the guns in the front pocket. He went downstairs and headed for the kitchen. He started opening the drawers and pulled out anything he thought he could use. Frank also went to the basement, where some of his father's other guns were stored. After he was through, he grabbed his bag and headed outside. He opened the doors to the Hummer, and threw the bag in. He spared a glance at his Chevelle, torn between leaving it and somehow taking it with him.

A few minutes later, he hooked the car to the back of the Hummer. He walked back to the house, saying a silent goodbye to it. And to his family. Frank got into the car, and the hummer drove away a few seconds later.

"What do you mean, his body wasn't there?"

The members of the board looked at each other, more than a little worried.

"We gave you a simple assignment, Agent Kore. I had hoped you'd have managed to do it without any…complications arising."

"Sorry, sir. We're already searching for him," David said, scared shitless, and not because they intimidated him.

"Make sure you find him, and fix this. I don't need to remind you what will happen should you fail."

David gulped.

"No, sir."

He left, his heart threatening to explode.

Frank had managed to find himself an old abandoned house not far from the interstate. The area was covered with trees, which made it easier for him. No one would think to look for him here. And the better part was there was room for both cars. The house was small, only a single floor and a basement.

He'd already appropriated it for his purposes. Downstairs, his weapons were laid out on a table. It wasn't a large collection-just the two pistols, a single beretta, his father's old M4 carbine, a .22 hunting rifle, a Soviet AK-47, and Frank's knife. His Kevlar vest lay on a chair. Frank knew his collection would grow in the coming fight. He sighed and walked upstairs. He had a lot of planning to do. But first…

He opened the cooler he grabbed, and pulled out a beer can. He downed it in seconds.

Planning.

1 Month later

The board members were edgy and annoyed. No news of Frank Castle had reached them. None. The police had no leads, none of their criminal contacts had heard anything, and Castle himself had not made his presence known.

David had tried to calm them down, saying Frank would show himself sooner or later. He was partially correct. Frank was already in the city. But he wasn't stupid. He kept to the rotted parts of the city, where no one cared what happened. And he moved around only at night. He also developed a new habit.

He'd taken a whole new view to the criminals that ran the world.

I survived for a reason. I survived to make an example of these scumbags. God made me live so that I could show the world that evil can't do what it wants. I'm the Avenging Angel. A Punisher, sent to clean up this fucked up world. No one escapes judgment.

He looked down at the black and white shirt that would symbolize what he was. He put it on and began to load the weapons. When he was finished, he put on a black trench coat and left the house.

Don't need the Kevlar. Yet. They won't know what hit them.

New York was as bad as it always was. The reason he'd decided to walk tonight was so that he could a better feel for the environment.

Not many people. Good. I'll have to-shit.

There was a group of guys following a woman. Frank knew they weren't escorts. Sure enough, the woman glanced behind her and started running. They followed quickly.

Frank quickly crossed the street and made sure his pistols were secure.

"Hey!"

They stopped, turned around.

"I think you guys should just go home and leave the lady be," Frank said.

"Yeah? What you gonna do about it, punk?" The guy in front, presumably the leader, said.

Frank unzipped the jacket, revealing the white skull beneath. The thugs snickered and laughed.

"Ohhh, big bad hero boy, huh?" Another asked. There were five total, all packing guns. Normally, Frank would be cautious, even a little nervous. But something was telling him he'd be fine. That he wouldn't be harmed until he finished his job.

They surrounded him, all the while evaluating him. Frank didn't look at anyone but the one in front of him. They walked up to him, and one grabbed him from behind.

"Check out the hardware," another said, eyeing the pistols.

"Your mom know you have those?"

Frank stayed silent, and let his actions speak. He threw his head back, slamming it into his captor's nose, shattering it. He managed to pull one gun before he was knocked down. The other went flying.

"Motherfucker!"

The air was knocked out of him as they tackled him to the ground. He could barely move.

"How's that feel, huh?!"

Frank managed to pull the knife out. He stabbed the guy in the leg and twisted. The man screamed in pain, and Frank pushed him off. The moment he was up, he kicked him in the face.

The remaining three decided it was better to gang up on him, and they rushed. Frank met them head on, slamming his elbow into one's face, crushing his jaw. A neck chop followed, closing his windpipe.

Frank flipped the gun he had, and butted the closer of the two left in the face. He groaned, and Frank Castle…

No, not Frank Castle. Not anymore. The Punisher.

…grabbed him by the throat and snapped his neck. He looked at the last guy, and let him run away.

After all, the sheep must warn the shepherds about the wolf. Even if the wolf is doing it for their benefit.

Less than an hour later, a news crew had found out about the attack. The woman told them that she hadn't seen much, except someone who'd managed to single handedly knock her stalkers out. She also threw in the skull.

Frank smiled as he heard the report.

It's a start. Can't rush these things, after all. Tomorrow's gonna be a big day. Better plan it all out.

With that, Frank stood up and went to the table. He picked up a Kalishnikov rifle he'd recovered from the attic at home, and went to work.


	4. Chapter 4

Over a year and a half. Frank couldn't believe how long it'd been since that day. He'd blown enough bastards to hell to know he was getting somewhere. The media had picked up on the Punisher long ago. Kore was now part of a major unit whose mission was to apprehend the Punisher.

Thankfully, not many people were talking. The few who were, weren't much help. By the time police found one safe house, Frank was already gone. And right now, he was at the last place they'd expect him. He looked down at the tombstone, trying to ignore the anguish he felt.

Mario Lorenzo Castiglione

Louisa Castiglione

Frank Castiglione

May God watch over them

_Right. Now he'll do that._

He felt something, then. His spine tingled, and he reached into the coat he was wearing. The middle of winter. Maybe it was just the cold.

"Don't try anything, comrade."

Frank turned around. _Russians. Police can't find me, so now they send fucking Russians._

"Zimno, co nie?"

"Da," Frank said quietly. "Death usually is."

"We're not alone, Castle. Try anything, and we'll send you to your family early."

Frank sighed and turned around. There were four of them, all wearing trench coats, two armed with rifles. "Not real inconspicuous, boys. How's the dear general? Oh, right. I fucked up his missile shipment, right?"

The men shifted, and Frank eyed their weapons. "I'm surprised Zakharov didn't come himself."

"You think he'd come see you?" One of the men asked, then spit on the ground.

"I was hoping he would," Frank said, pulling out a lighter. The men again shifted, two pulling their guns out. "Relax, you pansies," Frank said, lighting a cigarette. "I'm not gonna kill you here. I'll come quietly."

The Russians escorted him and he looked at the sedans they drove in. "Get in," one said.

"I ain't getting in that shit car."

"Get in now," the one behind him said, shoving him forward.

"Okay, just let me put this out," Frank said, throwing the cigarette behind the car. "I'd take a step back if I were you."

The men looked at Frank a split second before the car exploded, shocking them all. Frank grabbed the nearest man and kneed him in the groin, pulling his left pistol out and shooting the lead thug-a big guy with a hat-right in the head. Frank considered himself lucky. He'd figured someone would think he'd come visit his family, but he hadn't expected the Russians. The guy he'd kicked in the balls got up and grabbed him by the neck. Frank gasped for breath, his hand in his pocket, trying to find his switchblade. Another one got up and tried to kick Frank. Frank pushed back and finally got the blade out. He threw his hand forward, ramming the sharp object into the man's crotch. The guy just doubled over, while his partner loosened his hold just enough for Frank to get out of it. He turned around and his foot shot out, connecting with the man's knee. The instant it struck, Frank twisted around his foot coming up, striking the man in the chin.

"Merry fuckin' Christmas," Frank said, finishing with a spin kick that sent the man into the nearest trash can. "Martial arts since I was six, asshole. And I practiced whenever I could."

Frank quickly walked out of the cemetery, noticing that people were looking. He pulling the coat around himself, hiding his face as best as he could. He crossed the street and got into his Chevelle, which after a year and a half, was still running smoothly, even if she had bullet holes, scratches, and dents in herself. The original red was all gone now. Frank had the car done over. Now it was gray, a truly beat up junker no one would look at. He started the car and drove away, not noticing the van following him.

"All units, we've receiving reports of a possible mugging in Central Park, near the cemetery."

_Mugging. People are idiots._

Frank ducked as gunfire suddenly started, the car taking hits on its right. Frank looked out, seeing the gunman aiming an assault rifle at him. Frank twisted the wheel hard, slamming his car into the van. The vehicle drove onto the sidewalk, and Frank hit his brakes, lining up behind it. The doors on the van burst open, and Frank ducked as gunmen opened fire. The Chevelle's front end became mangled and unrecognizable after a few seconds, and Frank was glad the engine hadn't blown itself. He pulled out a Savage/Stevens 311A he'd gotten off a dealer a month ago and fired. The first round blew a chunk of the back door off. He ducked again as bullets flew. He drove off to the side and slowly sped up, waiting, the second round still in the gun. The instant the mangled backdoor swung, Frank fired. He watched as a body fell out of the truck, the right side bloody-and missing an arm. He dropped the shotgun and reached into the glove compartment, pulling out his standard issue Beretta. He fired wildly, scoring hits on the door multiple times. The van began weaving wildly and Frank revved the engine, then floored it. He got ahead of the truck and hit his breaks, turning the wheel to the right. Frank grunted as he smashed headfirst into the steering wheel as the van slammed into the car and drove over the rear of the car. It tipped and fell on its side. Frank pulled the shotgun and calmly emptied the shells, watching the wreckage. He stepped out of the car, smacking the weapon closed. One guy slowly crawled out of the van, face bloody, his legs dragging, bloodied and torn. Frank took aim, but instead of shooting the man, he slowly moved his arm to the right, setting his sights on the fuselage. The man reached into his pocket. Frank fired.

He didn't even flinch as the truck blew up. He just tossed the empty gun into the passenger seat and drove away.

* * *

Authors' note: Yes, I know. Been a long while. I apologize. My main story continues to be my gundam fic, but I was running low on inspiration, so I tried my hand at this instead. I hope I didn't disappoint, and to those who have been waiting, thank you for not giving up. I don't know when I will update next, but this fic is not dead yet.


End file.
